


A God, a Warrior and a Mortal...

by erikaehm



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/F, F/M, Multi, darcy is in way over her head, frigga is alive, he has them anyways for shits and giggles, loki likes things he can't have, not a slow build at all, sif is totally happy with this plan, threesomes galore
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-12-06
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:00:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erikaehm/pseuds/erikaehm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walk into a bar. Except, not really. Instead they walk into a hall and three personalities collide. </p><p>Or the one where Darcy follows Jane and Thor to Asgard for their eventual engagement party and finds relaxation, comfort, and physical stimulation in the form of two tall dark and gorgeous Asgardians.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A birthday/Hannukah gift to my lovely Maggy who requested Darcy/Sif/Loki poly. Hope I end up delivering by the time this is all done ladybird.

“I don’t want to be here.” Darcy says after the world stops spinning and the colors finally settle. Her stomach is trying to stage a war with her gag reflex and she refuses to let go of Thor’s thick arm, nails probably unfelt by the armor he seems so keen on consistently wearing. She has the sinking suspicion that if she tries to move away she’ll burst into a mass of shapeless molecules and fade into nothingness. Or something equally as horrible.

 

Jane, on the other side of Thor, laughs breathlessly and steps away from her fiancé. Her eyes glitter as she greets the giant, terrifying – sexy? God, Darcy hates Asgardians – man standing in the centre of the room. He merely nods but says nothing back, focused on the vast space of never ending nothing stretched out before him.

 

He reminds her of a griffin; regal and smooth with calm eyes that belong to a wise old owl instead of someone so closely resembling a human. She’s so busy trailing her gaze down his intricate armor that she doesn’t realize she’s taken three steps forward until Thor chuckles and slings a heavy hand over her hip, steering her away from the creepy silent Heimdall towards a long, golden hallway.

 

Jane’s been here before enough times now that she doesn’t stop to gape. Neither her nor Thor bother to rush Darcy along when she decides to, though.

 

She’s heard stories of course but she’s never _seen_. She’s finding it hard to believe that she _is_ seeing, because in this world everything that glitters is gold or even more valuable. The buildings splay across the land like the fantasies of mad men lost to the dream El Dorado, streaks of various greens breathing life into unyielding metal and gem. When she can breathe again it’s only to say “Holy _shitballs_ ,” and then she’s back to gaping, fingers twitching to touch a golden railing painstakingly carved with the pattern of sweet little leaves and flowers, so realistic they seem to sway in a nonexistent breeze.

 

No rebuke comes and she does touch, reveling silently in the smooth curve of a half bloomed rose.

 

In the back of her mind, Darcy wishes that cameras would work here. She knows they don’t, though; Jane has tried – it has something to do with the magick here, with the Bifrost and the remnants of power it holds carefully within. Or at least that’s what Erik thinks and as the years drag by he’s more often proved right than wrong, so who is she to argue.

 

She wonders, too, in that small part of the back of her mind, why Thor even bothers coming back to Earth. Why Jane would _want_ to.

 

“This is...”

 

“It’s something.” Jane agrees sliding gracefully to the empty spot on Darcy’s left. She curls her own hands around the railing, staring down into the thousands of feet of empty air below them. She smiles to herself secretly content with how she already knows what it’s like to fall. “I’m glad your first time here is under better circumstances than mine was.” She adds, trying to lighten the mood – to bring some of Darcy’s attention back to Earth. Or, well, Asgard in this case.

 

“First time?” Darcy replies, snapping back to herself. “You mean there’s going to be a second? I mean, if you two even manage to convince me to leave, that is. Thor can I stay on your planet, it’s prettier than mine.” She lets a whine slide into her voice as she tucks down into his side, puppy-dog eyeing up at him. “Puh-le-aaase?”

 

Thor, never quite one to catch onto her jokes, simply smiles widely and winds an arm around her, reaching the free one out for Jane. His fiancé goes willingly and he begins to lead them, both tucked snug against his sides. “You may stay as long as you wish, dearest Darcy.” He rumbles. “For as many moons as you like.”

 

She tosses Jane a grin. “I get to stay as long as I like.”

 

Jane raises both eyebrows, unimpressed. “Uhhuh.”

 

They’re just crossing into the gates of Asgard when a loud voice bellows across a lavender scented courtyard, echoing off the columns around them.

 

“Thor!”

 

Darcy’s throat dries up when she catches sight of the other woman. She’s heard it’s been a peaceful six years in Asgard, but this – Sif isn’t as heavily armoured as Thor. She wears a deep red _dress_ that ends obscenely high on milky thighs. On the right one there is a thin band of silver made of intricate little feathers. The silver boots she wears are flat, no heel to speak off, and end in sharp points above her knees. There’s a story carved into them and if Darcy had enough of a mind to give a rats ass, she would see a tale of the Valkyrie there.

 

Instead all she can focus on is the strips of pale, toned thigh, and the way that the breastplate she’s wearing leaves _nothing_ to the imagination. Her attention is caught too, on the matching bands of silver on Sif’s biceps and the winged crown adorning her head.

 

Also, the sword. No one could forget the sword all business, swinging in stride to long steps, swaying with broad hips.

 

Darcy wiggles uncomfortably against Thor’s side. He mistakes it for excitement and bellows out a laugh, releasing the women under his arms in favor of stepping forward to pull his battle sister into a hug, clapping her loudly on her metal-clad back.

 

Sif’s arms snake around his waist briefly before they step back from one another, appraising each other with their eyes.

 

“You look well, Lady Sif.” He intones, title sounding smooth coming from his mouth.

 

Her own curves into a smile and her eyes glitter with some secret knowledge as she lets them flicker over Jane, settling on her abdomen. “As do you all.” She says, not bothering to expand any further. Jane has the decency to blush but Darcy can still only gape, unbelieving once more.

 

Because Sif had looked out of place on Earth. She didn’t _fit in_. Here though, she’s in her realm. She fits every bit of her armour and crimson colors, the silver that glitters elegantly where it would look tacky and presumptuous on others. In this world Darcy is the one out of place and she doesn’t understand how she once thought Sif was overdone. In this world Sif looks almost _modest_ but there’s something about her that makes Darcy ache low in her belly, a deep steady throb that has her thighs squeezing tight and _trembling_.

 

That hazel gaze lands on her and the only thing she can think to do is jerk her chin in a shaky nod and add on, “Yo. Wassup?” While completely ignoring the concerned glance Jane is giving her.

 

“We have been expecting you.” Sif says, body completely relaxed. “Thor has requested that I outfit you in proper Asgardian attire for the feast we will have to celebrate your arrival.” She holds out a bare hand, all of her attention focused on Darcy. “Come. I must change myself into something more appropriate as well.” The look she tosses at Thor is sly. “I’m quite certain Thor and his Lady Jane can prepare without us.”

 

“Oh, I –“

 

She doesn’t have time to fumble up an excuse as Sif finally just reaches over and snags her wrist, forcefully pulling her along. “Do not be late Thor! Your father will be present for the beginning of tonight’s feast, and you know how he despises tardiness!”

 

The walk to Sif’s chambers is a blur of insanely buff warriors dressed in ridiculously huge pieces of armour, and floors so shiny that the paparazzi would have endless panty shots if the skirts she managed to see weren’t floor length, or you know, armor.

 

Shortly though, she finds herself seated on the edge of a bed that could fit eight Asgardian sized people easily, being forced to pull off her own shoes. She sort of just _forgets_ to finish undressing though, when Sif strips down bare in front of her and crosses to a massive golden toned wardrobe in nothing aside from her jewellery. Her black hair brushes the top curve of a pert ass, an ass that makes Darcy shudder when Sif bends down to retrieve a shoe similar to the newly popular Gladiator style that divas on Midgard wear.

 

“Oh my _God_ can you _not_?” She manages to squeak out when Sif finally stands. The warrior turns towards her and Darcy’s eyes glue onto creamy breasts, nipples flushed and  perked in the coolness of the dark room. She feels an answering flush rush up to her cheeks and firmly presses her thighs together.

 

“Is seeing another woman nude so uncommon on Midgard that it causes you such distress, Darcy Lewis?”

 

“No. No, I mean – I’ve seen Jane naked a hundred times, I just...”

 

“Do I make you uncomfortable then?” She asks, eyes glowing and a silver-blue dress draped easily over one arm.

 

“Uncomfortable is a word you could use.” Darcy agrees. Her hands curl into fists and press against her knees.

 

The glow turns into a sparkle as Sif discards the dress in favor of prowling across the room, looking every bit like a woman who can strategize entire battle plans while leaping forward into battle. “You look nervous. I suppose meeting the King of Asgard, being in such a new place could make one nervous.” She seems to be musing out loud, falling eerily silent as she stops before Darcy, dropping into a crouch so that their eyes are level. “Do _I_ make you _nervous_ , Darcy Lewis?”

 

“Yes.” Darcy breathes, thrilled and awed all at once.

 

A hand, callous from wielding a sword, scrapes noisily across the fabric of her jeans. “Here on Asgard we have developed the cure for many things. Nerves are among one of the many debilitating feelings we have...” Sif’s long fingers flick the button of her dark blue Levi’s open. “Conquered.”

 

“Oh my God.” She echoes again, gaping. “Is this – are you –“

 

“Just relax. I’ve been tasked with seeing to your needs, so allow me.”

 

It doesn’t take Sif long at all to have Darcy fully nude, ass and legs hanging off the massive bed with the rest of her sprawled in the sheets, hands grasping great fistfuls of the red fabric and ruining the once neatly laid linen.

 

The first touch of Sif’s tongue lands on the crease where Darcy’s thigh connects with the rest of her. Her stomach twists into a big knot, thighs flexing then clamping shut around stupidly perfect ears. Her hips leave the bed entirely when the pointed tip of Sif’s tongue drags a teasing circle around her clit.

 

Hands clamp down over her hips like a vice and she finds herself with no wiggle room at all. Her eyes shoot open in surprise, lower half shuddering at the hot rush of arousal. Full lips close over her and _suck_ and she’s sure that everyone in the damn palace can hear her humiliating squeals as she struggles to thrust or grind or _something_ , and as all those desperate thoughts and feelings spin to a mindless jumble inside her head, she finally comes undone; mewling like a wild thing, abandoning the thick sheets for thicker hair, _pulling_ with all her might and feeling the answering laugh pressed deep inside of her as Sif’s tongue licks and pushes and just _takes_.

 

She feels, when she’s finally released, like she did that one time in college when she actually did drugs and was left wrung out afterwards. Shaky, weak.

 

Totally calm.

 

“That was...wow.” Her voice sounds dreamy to her own ears and she struggles to prop up onto her elbows, watching as Sif leans back to lick her lips, eyes trailing appraisingly across her spread body. One finger reaches up to drag the back of a nail over her swollen clit, and her entire body jumps at the feel, rocking closer while trying to pull away at the same time.

 

“If I’d known you humans to be so sensitive I would have tried this back on Midgard.” Sif says softly, amused as she trails her palms down Darcy’s hips soothingly and rises in a single, fluid motion. “Might you be ready now, to prepare for dinner?”

 

Darcy stares pointedly at Sif’s groin, eyebrows hitched. “Don’t you think I should...”

 

“Asgardians have also perfected the art of patience. Most of us, at any rate.” The other woman muses, thinking of her headstrong Thor and fellow warriors. “If we don’t prepare now we’ll miss the introduction. Come, I’ll help you get dressed.”

 

The discarded dress turns out to be for her. She likes the way it hugs her chest but hates the way it flows almost to the floor accentuating the silver toned ‘Gladiators’. She hates the braid pulling her hair back from her face weaved with what looks like spider web thin strands of silver. She hates that she feels out of place because she tried to grow out of that in college when she realized she was always going to be the odd girl out.

 

Had almost gotten over it when she was taken under the quirky Jane’s wing, was welcomed with open arms by the eccentric Erik Selvig.

 

It’s hard to feel normal in a place where you’re literally only one of two humans in the entire _realm_.

 

It’s no surprise at all that when she finally catches sight of Jane and Thor, she latches on. Well, wiggles in is a more accurate term – she somehow manages to squeeze between them so that Thor’s arm which was around Jane originally, is around them both, and Jane is struggling to keep a grip on her fiancés waist. When she’s comfortably situated between two of the three people she actually trusts with her life, she heaves out a massive sigh and tosses a grin at the woman standing in front of them. “Yo.”

 

Delicate eyebrows crawl up a sculpted face to settle near her hairline. “Good evening. You must by the Lady Darcy that Thor speaks so highly of.” She shares a secret, amused look with the massive blond who seems perfectly content to arm-snuggle two grown women. “He says that you are practically a sister to our fair Jane.”

 

“Yep.” She replies, making sure to pop her ‘p’. “That’s me, good ole Darcy. You are?” She cocks her head and holds a hand out for a shake.

 

Gracefully, the woman takes it. She looks like she’s internally laughing at some joke or another. “I am Frigga, wife of Odin – mother of Thor, and Loki.” She adds the last part naturally, even though Darcy knows from Jane that Loki is an adopted fuckwit and –

 

And Darcy is suddenly very, very glad that she isn’t drinking any of the wine that Fandral is rushing along towards them, pretty-boy face split into a wicked grin at the sight of her. “I – uhm. Oh shit.”

 

“You’ll have to forgive her.” Jane drawls, shaking from silent laughter. “Darcy often speaks before she thinks. Darcy, Frigga. Frigga, Darcy. Darcy is my oldest, closest friend and I want to thank you, from both of us, for allowing us entrance into Asgard.” She says it all smoothly, comfortable now with Frigga in a way that she wasn’t on her first visit.

 

Thor beams bright enough that Darcy has to dig her fingers playfully into his un-armored sides, snickering at the way he twitches from her prodding, snatching her hand so that she can’t continue.

 

“Here, take this.” He decides finally, using his grip to spin her across the floor straight into Fandral. He somehow manages to catch her without spilling the three glasses in his other hand.

 

The arm that catches her has a sneaky hand that slides down over the curve of her arse. She can’t find it in herself to be offended, but she does steal a drink before backing up enough to hide in the relative safety of Sif’s shadow. “Long time no see, big guy.” She says, meaning the ‘big’ part honestly – she doesn’t know what Asgardians put in their water but whatever it is it makes them ridiculously _huge_.

 

She kinda likes it.

 

She doesn’t, however, like the man striding purposefully towards their little group. Her blood runs cold then bursts to life in an angry flush that colors her face ruddy, makes a low pounding in her ears. His hair is slicked back from his face in a way that should make him seem greasy but just serves to make him slick. His horn adorned helmet isn’t present but the tight green and black leather is – as is the cape that drags coyly at the gleaming tiles, trailing behind him in a way that makes him seem weightless; unreal.

 

He smiles a sharks smile at both Jane – who rolls her eyes – and Sif – who drops a hand to her sword, almost playfully – before he stops before Darcy, eyeing her like a merchant might a slab of meat at the butcher.

 

“Well, well, what – “

 

Before he can finish a resounding _slap_ echoes through the hall. More than half the Asgardians gathered turn their attention towards the entrance to the hall, surprise etched across their features. Darcy feels her lips pulling back from her teeth, vicious, and spits out “That’s for Erik you piece of shit. You’re fucking lucky I don’t have my taser or I swear –“ But she doesn’t finish the threat before trying to lunge at him, only planning far enough ahead to rip some of that pretty hair out of his scalp.

 

Thor crushes that little aspiration when he catches her round the waist and heaves her easily from the floor, her feet dangling at least a foot above the tile. She puts up a token effort, knowing there’s no real use fighting against the God of Thunder, before going limp, her chewed nails biting into Thor’s bare forearms.

 

“He started it!” She says, defensively.

 

“And I am finishing it. Loki has more than paid for his crimes, Darcy –“

 

“No. Pants.” She says flatly, refusing to look away from the Trickster.

 

Loki purses his lips, confused.

 

Thor winces.

 

“ _I_ have more than paid for his crimes with _no pants_.”

 

“Well now, I hardly think going pantless is of any cost to you.” Loki all but purrs.

 

Darcy, despite her better judgement, allows her struggles against Thor’s stupid strong arm to renew. He merely adjusts his grip to better hold her and sighs, prepared to wait the tantrum out.

 

She wiggles until she’s half exhausted before huffing out like a child at the end of a tantrum. “No. Pants.”

 

“As much as I understand your pain I cannot in good conscience allow you to attempt to harm my brother; not for his safety, but for your own. This is not your realm, Darcy.” He warns softly, loosening his grip the slightest bit to see if it’s safe to let her go.

 

“I took you down, didn’t I?” She spits back at him defiantly.

 

One could hear a pin drop in the silence that follows that statement. Loki looks like a five year old on Christmas while the rest of the hall – save for Frigga who mostly looks amused – appears to have fallen into some form of shock or another. Someone clears their throat, awkwardly, and Loki leans forward.

 

“Oh did you now? And how do you, a mere mortal, possess the power to take down the God of Thunder?” He somehow manages to make the word sound like a mockery of the title.

 

Darcy’s used to fighting with words. You don’t get to be a scientific intern without learning how to be catty. “What princess, pissed that I did it in five seconds when you haven’t been able to in over a millennium?”

 

Loki looks like he’s been slapped in the face. It gives Darcy a vindictive sense of pleasure that finally has her fully docile in Thor’s arm.

 

Smoothly, Jane steps between the two of them, having stopped being afraid of Loki almost three years ago, now. “Okay that’s enough, no one wants to hear about any of this –“

 

“On the contrary.” The deep voice has every head turning, and Darcy knows without being told who this is. The crown, the staff, the _everything_ screams King.

 

She just verbally bitch slapped one of Odin’s sons, and called out the other one. In front of him. The angry flush fades to a blotchy paleness but he pays her no further heed as he glides towards the throne at the head of table, face as impassive as stone.

 

“I would greatly like to hear of how the _young_ ,” He says it like an insult “Miss Darcy managed to take down my eldest son.” He sits.

 

“She used a magical Midgardian wand that spits electricity to subdue me after I had been struck by a massive, metal beast. Twice.” Thor says, unable to hide either his shame or his pride.

 

“A. It is a _taser_ , science not magic. B. It is a _car_ not a beast, it is not alive and for the last time it doesn’t matter how fast you heal you _have_ to wear the seatbelt because if you don’t my driving is going to send you through the windshield and it will _hurt_. We like to avoid hurt and broken windows on Midgard.” The statement is met with confusion. Darcy, still dangling like a doll in a child’s arms, tosses her own arms into the air, exasperated.

 

“I always forget what an incredibly dull planet Midgard is.” Loki drawls as he heads to his own seat, pointedly ignoring the looks the other Asgardians and his father send him.

 

Darcy knows that look. It makes her insides squirmy because she’s been on the receiving end of it half a million times. “Yeah that’s not what you were saying when the Hulk tossed you around Avengers tower.” She says weakly, grabbing onto her anger at the stupid snake man with all her might.

 

He simply shoots her a narrow calculating look which is the last thing she notices before the rest of the night becomes a fast paced blur.

 

She’s introduced to Odin which is totally awkward, and then everything melds together with disgustingly thick, heavy Asgardian wine and mindless chatter. Apparently her tazing Thor is a big deal and her shoulders ache from all the back pats she’s been getting from massive drunken people who make her tell the story over and over again.

 

The king and queen retire early which doesn’t mean much of anything, except that the common folk just get more drunk. By the time Thor’s scooped Jane up bridal style and is carrying her off to his chamber or whatever the Hell he calls it, Darcy’s vision and head are both pleasantly cotton-filled, soft around the edges. It makes this magical realm glitter more and she lets herself hunker into Fandral’s side although he lost interest in her after the flirting dwindled out and she tried stabbing him with a fork. There’s a sort of familiarity with curling into the warm leather of his side, watching the room spin prettily as she drinks heavily from her goblet, long past the point of listening to anyone.

 

She doesn’t even know what time it is but if she had to guess she would say it’s late.

 

Sif is nowhere to be found either which she only notices when Loki slips to her side, expression pleasantly mild as he stretches a long fingered hand out to her. “Come.” Is all he says. All he needs to see, because when someone speaks with authority they often have it – a lesson she learned from Tony Stark, the sneaky fucker. She sets her own hand in his and allows him to bundle her halfway under his cape when she stumbles drunkenly towards the entrance of the hall.

 

“This is a bad idea.” She declares as they make a sixth right – or left? – turn down the endless arched hallways. She hiccups too, and clutches the goblet closer to herself. “Re-ally bad.”

 

“And what’s so bad about it? It’s not as if I’d lower myself to deflowering a Midgardian woman while she’s too drunk to see straight.” He replies blandly, leading her around another corner.

 

“I resent that. I am _not_ flowered. Also deflowering? What are you my grandma? Jesus.” She shakes her head vehemently and he sighs sharply through his nose, nudging a door open with his toes.

 

Sif sits up in her bed to stare at them with bleary, half asleep eyes.

 

“Take care of this.” Loki snaps, one lazy nudge sending Darcy toppling face first into the bed. He has the sense to tug the shoes off of her while she crawls up to curl into a neat little ball against Sif’s side, snoring before she’s even fully settled.

 

“How thoughtful of you.” Sif murmurs, eyes narrowed into suspicious slits.

 

Loki sneers at her, and turns away in a swirl of cape.

 

OoOoO

 

It takes Darcy three glorious days to recover from her hangover from Hell. During those days Thor and Jane visit her to make sure she’s still alive. Pretty Asgardian women make sure she has foods and that she’s comfortable at all times.

 

At night Sif makes her body feel alive and cures her headaches with mind blowing sex that leaves her passed out in the pillows until Jane wakes her for breakfast on the following days.

 

On the third day, though, she finds herself restless. She tosses on a robe that’s been left for her, telling herself it’s just like the ratty bathrobe she has at home. A quick peek in the hallway tells her she’s alone and if there’s one thing she’s always firmly believed, it’s that you have to get lost before you understand your bearings. So she tiptoes through the halls of Asgard in a robe that’s more like a sheet-toga with barefoot, nearly silent steps.

 

She gets thoroughly lost and _thoroughly_ enjoys it as she slips into a side room that turns out to be a library, and trails the endless shelves of books until she finds herself on a balcony.

 

She freezes in the doorway when she see’s what’s waiting outside.

 

Loki sits perched on the railing. One leather clad leg hangs precariously over the ledge of it, dangling above the insanely high fall that would mean ground. He’s leaning against a column, head dipped down, mouth moving silently as he reads over an ancient tomb sprawled open across his lap. Long fingers trail down dusty pages with the ease of familiarity.

 

It’s hard to imagine him as the lunatic who tried to take over her world. She has the video footage though and the medicine cabinet full of pills to know that he _is_ a lunatic who tried to take over another world.

 

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, clutching at her toga-robe-sheet. It isn’t until he speaks that she realizes she’s been standing there, watching him, at all.

 

“I can see you, Darcy Lewis. You are a much better door than a window.” His eyes don’t stop moving until his fingers hover over flipping the page. It’s at that point he makes a split second decision and slams the book closed, laying it aside on a crystal and gold table, turning to face her fully. Her heart skips as he manoeuvres around the railing, shifting until both legs are on her side and his cape snaps in the breeze, high above the ground.

 

Her palms are sweating. She rubs them against the cloth surrounding her, struggling to find her voice.

 

He doesn’t know what it is, exactly. She’s nothing spectacular to look at, nor is she particularly an intellectual genius – he’s heard her call Mjolnir, the damned hammer ‘meowmeow’ more times that he cares to think about. Maybe it’s the thought of her besting Thor that makes her appealing. It might be the fact that she’s small, and fragile and _human_. Perhaps even, it’s that he heard her that first day in Sif’s room, _begging_ for it.

 

He thinks that maybe it’s because she stared across a room at him, terrified, and didn’t hesitate to try and attack. With Jane there had been pure anger that first time. Anger driving her with Thor by her side, her knowing she was protected.

 

With Sif –

 

Well, Sif’s always had a sword at his throat and a dagger at his groin. That wasn’t unusual.

 

But this one attacked without care for herself. With fear and anger _both_ driving her.

 

Unlike the others she attacked without sparing a second thought to Thor. This, this Loki knows without question. He can see without looking that she went into battle so to speak, believing there to be no one at her back.

 

She’s surrounded by people who love her, and yet she trusts no one.

 

He pushes aside the emotion that creeps around that with the same ease he uses to push off the railing, landing cat-like on his feet and prowling towards her and her ridiculous get up.

 

She measures him up, shifting restlessly, before finally saying “Don’t think I won’t taze your stupid crazy ass.” In a tone that tells him she _would_ if she _could_.

 

He smiles before he can help himself, stopping directly before her. He tilts his head down as she tilts hers up, the height difference making them both strain. There’s defiance and fear and a spark of fire in her eyes. He feels the answering flame inside of himself, snorting softly as he tells her, “You’re appalling.”

 

“And you disgust me you sick-o freakzoid.” She replies without missing a beat.

 

He doesn’t bother hesitating when his hand curls over her chin, tight, and he tips his head down for a kiss.

 

Darcy kisses like she does everything else; either lazily, or with every fibre of her being. Loki’s not used to being swept off his feet, but the small human manages to do just that as she forces her tongue into _his_ mouth and _takes_.

 

When he pulls back it’s more to clear his head than for her need to breathe. They stare at one another for a long moment before the dark haired short one spins on her heel and disappears amongst the towering shelves of books, face burning red as she does so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Discusses adultery.

“Is it cheating if you’re not dating?” Darcy blurts as she paces in front of Thor’s bed, thumb halfway in her mouth as she viciously attacks the nail. “Do Asgardians _do_ cheating? I mean – is that like a thing or is everyone here just totally sexually fluid and amazing? Are they monogamous?”

 

Jane appraises her friend with worried eyes, halfway propped up in bed and completely naked save for Thor’s cape, draped across her lap. “I...don’t know if it’s cheating if you haven’t set out guidelines. Asgardians are monogamous I think – remember Thor flipping when he found out I’d started dating? Not to mention his parents, married for several centuries? I haven’t really asked him about Asgardian sexuality but considering as I walked in on two of the ‘maids’ here in...explicit sexual acts, then caught one of them in a pantry with Fandral the next day I’m going to assume that they’re more lenient in regards to sexuality than us mere mortals are.” She says mere mortals with a bored drawl that has Darcy spinning to face her.

 

“I don’t know what I’m doing and I don’t want to be here.” She says, caught between panic and hysterics. “I don’t know what I’m doing Jane and while that isn’t unusual my not knowing...ness is usually accompanied with a shout of _in the name of science!_ ”

 

Jane frowns wearily. “You spend too much time with Tony – “

 

“That’s just the thing I don’t spend _enough_ time with Tony. If I spent too much time with Tony I would know what to do with crazy cake serial killers and badass Pepper-y women hitting on me!” She realizes she’s shouting and forces herself to tone it down. “Tony is a good idea. We don’t get cell reception up here do we?” She pats the pockets of her jeans, happy with the fact that they’re actually letting her _wear_ jeans instead of trying to force her into dresses.

 

“No.” Jane folds her hands across her stomach, the gesture so gently protective that Darcy’s brain shuts down mid rant.

 

“I don’t know what to do.” She says again, helpless as she stands at the foot of the bed and puppy-eyes at Jane.

 

“And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t help you unless you tell me what’s going on Darcy – and no, bursting into my room when I’m asleep and shaking me until I sit up so you can scream nonsense at me is _not_ telling me what’s going on. Take a breath, sit down. Talk to me.” She shifts the cape up to cover her torso as well. The gold clasps that clip it to Thor’s armor drag it over her shoulders, holding it in place.

 

Darcy realizes for the first time in a long while, that Jane is pretty.

 

And understanding.

 

She sits on the edge of the bed, taking a deep breath to try and settle her frantic thoughts. “I don’t know if you know what’s going on with Sif and I...”

 

Jane groans. “Darcy the whole realm knows what’s going on with you and Sif and no one _cares_. If this is a sexual identity crisis, I am going to have to remind you of that one time in the Yukon with the blanket. I do not care if you are gay or straight or bi or pan or _anything_. You are Darcy, my friend, and that is all that matters. Sif is a beautiful, amazing woman and I’m happy you’re getting out and doing things, no one is going to judge you. In fact everyone is whispering about how great it is that _you_ are the one Sif hooked up with, thanks to the stunt with you tazing Thor. Jesus Darcy, if you sleeping with a woman is the big deal here please just crawl up and have a nap with me I am still tired from last night.”

 

Darcy is quiet for a long moment. It’s a long enough moment that Jane sits up further in the bed, adjusting the cape so that it stays on her. She doesn’t question, she doesn’t prod; she knows that Darcy will tell her in her due time.

 

Eventually though, she can’t wait. “If this is about Ian...”

 

“It’s not about Ian.” Darcy says, voice whisper-soft. She looks at Jane with big, lost eyes, and Jane’s heart breaks just a little bit.

 

Darcy looked at her like that years ago when she applied for intern. She’d arrived at Jane’s little office in torn jeans and a ragged sweater, bags under her eyes. Darcy plays stupid but Jane has her school records – straight A’s and college funded entirely through scholarships. She had known then that there’d been something going on behind the scenes. Two weeks after hiring her on, Jane quietly moved Darcy into her own home.

 

They haven’t quite been apart since and years of knowing each other, years of drunken nights spent watching and dissecting Disney films over cookie dough ice cream, have taught Jane just what Darcy has gone through. What she has _survived_.

 

“Loki kissed me. Or. I don’t know. Loki and I kissed.” She admits finally, thumb lifting back to her mouth. Jane notices, distantly, that it’s bleeding. “Loki put his mouth on my mouth and then I put my tongue in his throat, basically. It was a thing. That happened.” Darcy throws her hands over her face and collapses backwards onto the bed, groaning into her palms. “Oh God it was _beautiful_.”

 

Jane is quiet for a long moment, before she slowly lets herself fall back onto the bed to examine the ceiling. Sometimes she wishes life – people – were made up of numbers and calculations. She knows technically, scientifically, every life form _is_ just an equation. She guesses that she just wishes she knew what the all-knowing formula was. “Have you spoken to Sif about it yet?”

 

“What? No.” Darcy pauses. “Should I?”

 

“I guess that’s up to you. And obviously you’re upset about it, because you like her. But you also liked kissing Loki. So maybe you should talk to her about it – sometimes saying nothing at all is just as bad as lying. And no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.” She sits up again, almost forcefully, staring Darcy head on. “I don’t care if whatever happens pisses off all of Asgard- been there, done that. If we have to pack up and clear back out to Earth sooner than expected, I will drag Thor kicking and screaming.”

 

“He doesn’t strike me as the kicking and screaming type.” Darcy replies, weakly.

 

Jane cocks an eyebrow. “You haven’t seen Doctor Banner dragging him around the training gym by the cape, then.”

 

Darcy’s eyes light up.

 

Jane sighs, some of the weariness leaving her. “Yes, Darcy, Tony has it on video. You can ask him about it when we get back to Earth.”

 

Conversation ebbs back to the easiness of less complicated times, ceasing only when Thor arrives back from...whatever he was doing, Darcy isn’t sure. But there’s dried blood smeared across his face so she assumes it had something to do with Meowmeow or his fists. He’s grinning though so he either won or it was for fun.

 

And as much as she adores the big lug she rolls away from his sweaty man-stink hug, managing to clap him on the shoulder while shouting, “Love you too, bye! Take care of Jane while I’m gone.” Before flinging herself out the door.

 

She pointedly refuses to think about the fact that Thor’s _brother_ kissed her. Or she kissed him or – or whatever. That their faces smooched. _Heh, smooched_.

 

She doesn’t drink at dinner. She doesn’t really eat either, but no one notices because everyone on this planet just seems so _cheerful_ when they’re not stone-cold dead-eyed. She waits until the sky is darkening just the faintest bit and everyone is settled on food and heavy drink before she seeks out Sif.

 

She’s sort of surprised to find her practicing by herself in the courtyard, and she can’t bring herself to interrupt. Instead she stands beside a giant pillar, her hand resting on gold that should feel cool to the touch but instead feels just as warm and alive as a sleeping body. Her fingers absently stroke over delicately carved grooves in the metal as she takes a few minutes to be still and to just _watch_.

 

Watching Sif is...

 

Well, she already knew Sif was beautiful. But seeing her like this, in her battle armour, fighting effortlessly through enemies that only she can see, is something else entirely. Gone is the soft femininity of a naked body, hot under lips or hands. In its place is the fierce, gripping sexuality of a woman who was meant to conquer and who _can_. She is all solid motion, unflinching nerve, and eyes of steel as she arcs a blade around her head.

 

Darcy has a vivid imagination. She puts it to use here, thoughts of things like Frost Giants and Chitauri rushing to the forefront of her mind. She has the sneaking suspicion that if Odin had granted the Warriors Three access to Midgard – if he’d been able to – during the Battle, that the Chitauri wouldn’t have been a problem.

 

She thinks that maybe Sif could take on the world by herself, and win.

 

A feeling sort of like _want_ and much too close to _need_ curls a fist inside of her guts, making her throat tighten with the squeeze of it. Because as much as she thinks, she hopes and preys that Sif will never have to do any of that alone. That she won’t ever have to be alone again – and the thought of it is ridiculous, because soon she’ll be going back to Midgard. Back _home_.

 

She steps away from the pillar, into the light. Sif twirls and the sword twangs off the stone of the courtyard, the woman ending in a crouch that is all muscle and whipping hair. She looks at Darcy from beneath half-lowered lashes, a smile playing on her mouth. “Do you like what you see, Darcy?” She calls. There’s a note of teasing accompanying the affection lacing her voice. She rises and sheathes the blade in one easy movement, stepping closer on near-silent feet. “Can I assist you?”

 

“Actually.” Darcy blurts, forcing herself to rush through the words. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

 

They end up on Sif’s balconies. The warrior sits on a chair while Darcy hops up on the railing, feeling carefree and terrified all at once. _It’s a long drop_ , she thinks, not really knowing herself which part she’s referring to _I’m sure Thor could catch me before I hit the bottom_.

 

“So I...This is awkward. For me. I don’t do relationships really – I mean, I like them. I do. I just, for me, no one ever sticks around. I do casual sex because I like sex and I don’t like things being complicated. But this stopped being casual when I stopped sleeping in my room and kept sleeping in yours and I’m _really_ bad at this. My longest relationship was two years, and I just really got out of it – a guy named Ian, he helped save the world when the Dark Elves attacked.”

 

“He was a brave warrior then.”

 

“No, he was a stupid intern on an adrenaline rush, but that isn’t the point. My point is, and please don’t hit me because I am much weaker than you, is that Loki and I kissed.” She doesn’t flounder over the words this time, having already sounded them out in her head half a million times. “And I feel really guilty over it because I liked it but I also really like you and I don’t want to fuck up whatever it is that we’re – doing. Or not doing, whatever. I just don’t _know_ Sif. What I’m doing or how to do it. You get that?”

 

Sif crosses her arms, one elegant brow raised. “Are you having a good time?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“You enjoy spending time with me.” Sif continues, and Darcy knows she’s not just referring to the sex. They talk, too. And they go out together – on ‘tours’ sort of. Sif likes showing Darcy Asgard, watching the wonder in the eyes of someone who hasn’t been blessed with the beauty of a home such as Asgard.

 

“Of course. I wouldn’t – “

 

Sif holds up a finger, interrupting her. “And you enjoyed kissing Loki?”

 

Darcy ducks her head, huffing out a breath. “ _Yes_ , and that’s the problem, Sif –“

 

“There _is_ no problem.” Sif interrupts again, although this time it’s with a warm voice. “Darcy – you and I are enjoying our time together, but there’s yet to a full world to be explored. I enjoy spending time with you, the things that we do, but I do not feel an ownership or an exclusive partnership over you. It is not straying if you are not leashed – although that’s a crude way to put it, I imagine. If you wish to have dalliances with any man or woman of Asgard that is up to _you_ until we both make the decision to officially court one another.” She lifts out of her seat and stalks across the short distance to Darcy’s perch, stepping between her legs and cupping her cheek so that the shorter woman will meet her eyes. “There is no shame in enjoying the pleasure others can bring you. I myself have kissed Loki – many, many years ago, however, and you must never tell anyone for I will injure you greatly if that secret escapes.” She says it with a pleasant enough smile. Darcy is smart enough to understand that it’s the truth.

 

“So you’re not mad.”

 

“Not in the slightest bit, no. He is an attractive snake, though a snake nonetheless.”

 

“And what you’re saying is...”

 

“If you wish to pursue a further relationship with Loki, I’ll not begrudge you that. If you wish to continue what we have while chasing the snake at the same time, I’ve no problem with that either. We Asgardians live much too long, and marry too little, to worry over such things Darcy. Not until we are entirel sure.”

 

Life goes back to the same pattern after that. Sif and Darcy sleep together, explore together. Sif teaches Darcy with an air of confidence, and when Sif isn’t around Darcy finds ways to entertain herself or spends hours tailing Thor and Jane, who are happy for her compan.

 

She doesn’t really see Loki, though, aside from at dinners or occasionally watching the sparring sessions Odin insists Asgard’s armies complete.

 

It’s Sif – whose eyes are trained – who see's Loki.

 

She’s sitting between Volstagg and Darcy at a table when she feels ice slither up her spine. The hairs on her arms rise faintly and a shiver darts up her sides, tickling. She fights the squirm that usually accompanies such a feeling and lifts her gaze from her plate, searching to the other side of the room.

 

Loki is watching her with his eerie blue eyes, casually tossing an apple up and down. He sits not alone but instead with Thor and Jane. They aren’t paying him any mind (Thor’s greatest fault she thinks, privately) and he’s clearly aware of it. There’s something lurking in his gaze though. She’s seen his eyes reflect glaciers more times than she can count, but she’s only seen this fire a few times. There’s something burning in his expression that makes the chill in her veins turn _hot_. She can’t help but stare as he takes a vicious bite of the apple, setting it carelessly aside after as he excuses himself from the table.

 

He shoots a single, pointed look in her direction before slipping from the room.

 

She waits for nearly twenty minutes before excusing herself. As she starts to trail towards the door, Hogun catches her wrist in a loose hold. She looks down at him and he up at her. For a moment, he examines.

 

Then, simply, he tells her “Be careful.”

 

The fingers of her free hand trail across the sword strapped to her hip. She doesn’t reply verbally, just nods her head in a sharp jerk.

 

She’s released as he twists back to the table, effectively distracting the curious Fandral by pointing out the entirely becoming cut of the shirt Darcy is wearing.

 

“Is there a reason you’re keeping such a close eye on me, Loki?” She drawls, managing to sound bored even as her hand curls over the hilt of her blade.

 

He doesn’t seem threatening, leaning against a column, bored look on his face. She knows better than that, though. “Who says the eye I’m keeping is on you, Sif?” He doesn’t add the ‘Lady’ to her name and it stopped irking her years ago.

 

The thing about Loki is if you don’t give him a rise he’ll give up. Eventually. Hopefully.

 

“Do I strike you as foolish?”

 

“Always.” He grins, sharp enough to cut stone. She lets it slide off her back and after a long stretch of silence, he hammers on. “Does it bother you? I know she told you.”

 

“You know entirely too much for someone who should have no means of knowing anything at all. But you _should_ know then, that what you and Darcy do is entirely up to you.” She doesn’t realize she’s gotten close until her hand lifts to jab a finger into the centre of his chest. “And that - despite what you know or what you think you know, or what you’re trying to _do_ \- that the Lady Darcy will return to me. As she did the first time.” She smiles humorlessly, eyes spitting sparks.

 

He does nothing other than incline his head curiously. “Have I told you lately Sif, that you’re absolutely striking?”

 

She has the thought of striking _him_ on one of his pretty cheekbones, but stamps her temper down with no small amount of effort. “Not for the last hundred years or so.” She says back, voice smooth as water. When she turns on her heel she makes damned certain that her hair whips him in the face, hoping it stings.

 

It isn’t until she’s reached the end of the hall that will lead away from the cheerful party still carrying on in the background that he calls out her name, softly.

 

She can’t fight the urge to turn around and face him, and so she doesn’t.

 

The sincerity on his face does not suit him even though it does become him. “You truly are striking.”

 

She does manage to fight the urge to snap at him, forcing herself to instead leave.

 

She wonders, though, at just what Loki is playing at this time – or if he’s playing at all.


End file.
